


The May Trilogy

by Rusty_Angel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rusty_Angel/pseuds/Rusty_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a cold May morning and Draco Malfoy finds himself in a place no Malfoy was before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Apple

Despite it's being May already, the morning is quite chilly, I discover as I stand in the middle of the market. A grocery market, nonetheless. I'm a bit afraid I may be the first in the whole Malfoy family to do that; it's a thing without precedence, and I smile inwardly at what my father would say about it. Thankfully, he's long dead, and I'm the only one who can deal with this madness.

"Malfoy? I thought it would be you, your hair is a dead giveaway," says a deep, warm baritone to my left, the most perfect sound in the world, "What you doing here? I thought Malfoys had house-elves to do their shopping for them."

I turn around, and yes, the owner of the voice is right next to me, his black hair in the usual disorder, with a trace of amusement in his green eyes. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, tormenting me with his existence for almost twenty years. Although recently it's the pain of completely different kind - not that he realises that.

"I've been waiting for you," I reply and I see his pupils go slightly wider.

"For me? Wait, is it something about the case?"

Ever so quick to draw conclusions, this Boy Wonder. And there I was, thinking we could play a little game. No chance then, it's back to business.

"Yes. We found a witness yesterday. She recognized Lestrange in the photo so now it's just a matter of time to send him to Azkaban. I left everything on your desk for you to see but I thought you'd like to know."

"That's great news, Draco, wonderful," he smiles at me, the joy he feels shining in his eyes. He's so easy to read. This work is something he loves; he was born to be an Auror, and I can only be grateful to be assigned to work with him. If only he could look at me with the same emotion he has for his job, my happiness would be complete, "I'll be in the office in two hours, OK?"

I nod. This gives me time to Apparate to my flat and take a shower. It's been a long night, and finally it’s taking its toll on me. I yawn, an undignified gesture in front of all these people, but the only one who matters doesn't notice. He is standing next to a display of oranges, looking at them so intently as if they hold some universal truth.

"I need sweet oranges to make a juice for Ned. He likes it freshly squeezed for his breakfast."

Oh.

So Potter had a busy night as well.

The pain is overwhelming, but I quickly suppress it. It would do no good if he saw it written all over of my face. He isn't supposed to know, not yet. It's my infatuation and I'll be the one to pick the date and the place to let him know about it. Preferably, the one that would give me the greatest advantage.

"I don't like oranges," I put the famous Malfoy sneer into work. I may even pout. A bit.

"No? What did those poor fruit do to make you despise them so much?" he jokes, the playful notes ringing in his voice. Merlin, I swear, one of these days he will make me come by speaking to me only.

"They're so ostentatious, both in colour and taste. I prefer apples: there's much more variety among them."

He abandons the oranges for a minute and looks at the apples. He even picks one, small and red, and smells it, his eyes half-closed. I hold my breath and try to write the image in my memory: Harry Potter on a cold May morning, with a red apple in his hand.

"And think of all the connotations," he says, "Snow White was poisoned with an apple, and Eve made the humanity fall with one."

"Muggle Studies may not be my strongest, but I heard it was a snake who made her do that."

He opens his eyes and smirks. "Actually, I think Eve might have been the ancestors of all Slytherins with her unhealthy snake obsession. Just look at you," he tosses the red apple at me, "You'd make a perfect Eve, poised next to the apple tree, one hand on snake's head, the other covering your, er, bits."

I stare at him, unable to make a move. I should hex him, he really deserves it this time, insulting me like that, but that would be a very Gryffindorish behaviour. I tilt my head instead and whisper hoarsely, "So, you think I'm pretty?"

He staggers, blushes, and looks down. Now I have the upper hand, and I plan to torment him a little more.

”It seems to be the only possible explanation. You see the apple, you think snake, Slytherin, and Eve, and bam, Malfoy’s a naked woman.”

He cracks a smile at me, “Yeah, something along that line,” and my heart skips a beat, all thoughts of vengeance leaving my head instantly. There's something soft in his green eyes, something new, and I feel my lips quirking at the sudden wave of hope in my heart.

Then he looks at his watch and swears loudly.

“Shite, look what time it is! Ned’s probably woken up already. Gotta go,” and just like that he turns around and walks away, taking all the sunlight with him, “See you at the office!”

I grab the reddest apple from the stand and shout after him. When he looks back, I throw the fruit at him. He catches it easily, like a Snitch, his Seeker reflex still working fine. He waves his hand and starts to run, and I can only watch his back for a moment longer. My hand drops slowly to my side and the smile disappears from my face.

“That’ll be 25p for the apple,” says the seller.


	2. A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that there is a deity who listens to Draco Malfoy's prayers. But can he make a good use of what he has been given?

He walks into the office and I raise my head just to catch the glimpse of his face, a dark trace of stubble on his cheek, the sight of his red, wet lips, the way sunlight catches in his glasses. He seems to be irritated today - I learned to recognize his moods quite accurately some time ago. A necessary skill in my situation, you have to admit.

"Malfoy," he speaks without any preamble, "this is your lucky day."

"Is it?" Irritation it is then.

"Yes. I've got a spare ticket for an art exhibition. Some Japanese erotic stuff."

"Which fortunate turn of events do I owe this honour to?" I can't resist asking, even though I'm already certain I'll accept the invitation.

"Ned can't come because of a business meeting or something," he nervously combs his hand through this bird's nest that goes as his hair.

Ah, Ned, my nemesis. Now I'm the one who's irritated. I'm only invited because this twat can't come. As if he couldn't spend a bit of his time with his own boyfriend. Gorgeous boyfriend, let me add, the one I have been chasing after for two years.

I realize I've been clutching my fists, my knuckles have gone white.

"So?" he asks, "are you coming or not? Make up your mind already, Malfoy."

"Why yes, Potter, I am coming." I answer evenly. This may be the occasion I've been waiting for, since Ned won't be there to interrupt my chase after Potter. "I can't resist it. You know that I'm an art aficionado, don't you?"

"Are you?" he's obviously surprised with my words. "Well, that’s good, at least there will be someone besides Hermione who will truly enjoy this show."

I groan. An evening with Granger means that there will probably be Weasley since they're almost inseparable. Just what I need tonight.

"So we're settled," Potter seems to be oblivious to my distaste, "Floo to my flat at 6 p.m., will you?" he adds, smiling, and instantly I'm charmed. He doesn't even need his wand these days to disarm me completely. I find myself nodding and a long moment passes before I can actually concentrate on my work again.

Could it be a date?

 

*~*~*~*

It may turn into a date or not but what I need is a foolproof plan. I hurry to my flat, and after a thorough shower, I open the door of my wardrobe, pondering what to wear. Contrary to a popular belief, I do own Muggle clothes. Very expensive and good quality Muggle clothes. I decide to wear black: a black, silk shirt with its last two buttons open invitingly; black, tailored trousers, tight around my perfect arse and loose around my not-so-perfect knees; black jacket with a bit of shine where needed. My mirror hoots approvingly, and I smirk: I am drop dead gorgeous. A hint of musky scent in strategic places and I'm ready to go.

I Floo to Potter's flat before 6 p.m. to discover no one else is there yet. Potter himself is still in the bathroom, and he shouts to make myself at home. I look around - this is the first time I've been in his flat - but it looks so normal and so very Muggle. There are a few wizard pictures at the mantelpiece of Harry and his friends, and the Weasley family, an overabundance of redheads, if you ask me. But Harry looks happy to be with them, almost serene, and I can’t help but stare.

The cough behind my back startles me, and I spin around to find Potter standing in the door. His pupils widen in surprise and I feel the first spark of hope inside me. Maybe, if I'm lucky...

"My, my, if you aren't gorgeous tonight, Malfoy, all in black," I hear the appreciation in his voice as he moves closer in long, predatory strides, "Is there some special occasion I don’t know about?"

I allow myself a tiny smirk.

"Surely, you must have heard that Malfoys look great in almost anything. It's hereditary."

"Oh, but I can't help but wonder if you would look as great in almost nothing," his voice is so hoarse and low it's difficult to hear the words, but his eyes, his eyes say so much, and his breath ghosts over my left ear, "Tell me, is your underwear black as well?"

I close my eyes and swallow. I'm already half-hard, and we've only just started flirting. I can feel the flame spreading through my body; my cheeks are probably red right now.

Before I can reply, the Floo roars with Granger and Weasley stumbling out. Harry rushes to greet them, hugging them with a genuinely joyful smile, and I feel spare and distant for a second, the pain of abandonment piercing my chest like a needle. But then he turns back to me and what I read in his eyes makes me weak in the knees.

Suddenly there's no time for drinks, the cab is already waiting. I sit next to Potter, who seems to be flustered, our thighs pressed together a little closer than necessary, but I'm not complaining at all. I even pay for the cab, willingly.

The exhibition takes place in a fancy gallery in Soho. Appropriate place, I decide after seeing a few items. They're mostly very expensive old paintings. I recognize Hokusai along with few others. Granger is almost ecstatic, Weasley seems to be bored, and Potter... is he sad? I take a sip of my Merlot as I try to decide how this fact can affect my plan, when Potter's breath ghosts over my ear for the second time this evening.

"Do you like this painting?"

I try to focus and find it extremely difficult. There's a pair, aristocrats, judging from their clothes, who are just about to kiss.

"Yes," I answer without turning around. I can feel the heat of his body on my back, he's standing so close.

"Even though they’re not kissing?" he asks and I smile. It's almost too good to be real.

"Some of us, Potter, believe that a long waiting strengthens the experience that follows. Makes it better, more memorable," he trembles, I can feel it in the shift of air, "Sometimes the anticipation is all you have. Good sex is more about the mind than the body."

"Is that why I can't stop thinking about your underwear?" he breathes hoarsely, "Are we going to shag tonight?"

My laugh is loud, happy and sincere. I turn around finally and I'm greeted with the sight of Potter in heat. And what a sight it is: his cheeks are coloured deep red, hair dishevelled, his pink tongue leaves wet traces on his lips, and I'm sure he's already half-hard. A beautiful imperfection and all of this is my doing.

Soon Granger decides she's tired and has had enough, so she and Weasley decide to call it a day. Potter and I leave the gallery shortly after, in what you may call a companionable silence, although I would rather call it rich with possibilities. By mutual understanding, we head back to Harry's flat. No sooner does the door close after us, I'm being pushed up the wall and the man I longed for ravishes my mouth. His tongue pushes against my lips and I stubbornly refuse to open them for a moment longer. I cultivate my defiance, although I know perfectly well I will give up tonight. Totally. And then his tongue slides past my teeth and gently meets with my own, wet and hot. I moan.

"You are a cock tease, Malfoy," I hear Harry whisper against my lips, his voice dark with promises, "and you're going to pay for it. Hard and slow, until I’ve had enough of you."

"Yesss..."

He chuckles at my instant submission. "You're a little slut, aren't you, Malfoy? Hot and willing, just for me. Will you let me have my way with you tonight? Are you going to be my whore?"

"Yes, anything, I can be anything, everything for you," I can't suppress the whimper. His words make me harder than the feel of his body. He knows all about my weaknesses, and he's going to use each and every of them for his advantage. And I'm going to love every moment of this sweet torture, I can see it in his eyes. This is it, this is what I waited for, plotted for, hoped for.

He reaches for the first button of my shirt and slowly pushes it through the hole before leaning forward and licking at my collarbone. I throw back my head at the sensation and his skillful fingers undo the second button, and then the third, until my shirt is wide open. His hands are hot, roaming my chest. My own hands are hopelessly tangled in his black hair, my last anchor to sanity. Before I let go, though, there's a question I have to ask, before it's too late and there will be no coming back.

"What about Ned?" my voice is small and trembling with anticipation, and yet I have to know, need to know.

Never stopping his explorations of my body, he answers without looking at me, "We broke up yesterday. You don't have to worry about him."

I freeze. This can't be. No, not now, why me? Why me? Why does it always have to be me?

I hold Potter's arms gently and push him away. First tears are already prickling in my eyes, and I pray for strength to be able to say what I have to say.

"My underwear is black, Potter, and I'm sorry to disappoint you but you won't be seeing it tonight," he frowns at my cold words. He opens his mouth to say something but I'm already turning away.

"I won't be your rebound."

I can't see his face when I Apparate back to my flat. I keep telling myself it is a right thing to do, that I won't be a casualty, but deep down I know the harm has already been done. My whole body shakes violently and I can't stop weeping. My heart aches and I can't be bothered to remove my clothes before I curl up in my cold, empty bed. I pull the duvet over my head, asking for a substitute of an embrace, but deep inside I know it won't work.

Tomorrow I'll start putting the pieces back together but tonight, just tonight, it's a time to give in to the sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Merry Month of May fest at hd_falling.  
> Prompt: Photo of a Japanese painting.


	3. A Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you remember *cough, cough*, Draco left Potter's flat in haste as he didn't want to be a rebound. Poor boy. He should know better than to rely on a Gryffindor to let the things go.

Sleep eludes me; I toss and I turn but the air is thick with unwanted memories. They seem to crystallize in my room, hovering above my bed, making breathing a damn difficult thing.

When I finally manage to fall asleep, I dream of Potter's lips on my body. They seem to be everywhere; they leave hot, wet trails on my shoulders, ribs, calves. It's a torture, the mightiest of them all. To experience this now and yet know that it won't happen in reality.

I wake up with a start. The room is covered with darkness but I sense somebody is standing next to my bed. My Auror's reflexes kick in immediately, I roll off the mattress, grabbing my wand from the bedtime table. But before I have the time to cast a Stunning Spell, the room is illuminated with wandless Lumos.

"Malfoy, you scared the shit out of me," says nobody else but the object of my nightmarish desire.

"I scared the shit out of you?!" I'm ablaze with fury, "Well, excuse me, Golden Boy, but let me remind you you're in my flat, stalking in my bedroom, in the middle of a fucking night, just few hours after you tried to screw me in order to forget about that sorry excuse for a boyfriend! And you're scared??"

He deigns to look sorry, I have to admit, but I see he's getting angry as well.

"First of all, Ned is not my boyfriend," he starts, and I know I can't let him have the upper hand so I stand up. He stops abruptly and stares at me.

You see, I sleep naked.

And I am drop dead gorgeous.

"Now Potter, kindly leave my apartment before I lose my temper and cast something Unforgivable," I say as I slowly walk around my bed to get closer to him, "You know I tend to be nasty at times, don't you?"

His eyes never leave my body and if I had been a bit modest, I'd have been ashamed of unwavering attention. His pink lips are wet and slightly parted, he breathes heavily. Suddenly, I smell alcohol.

"Potter, are you drunk?" The disbelief is apparent in my voice.

"Maybe," he answers coyly, averting his eyes.

"Are you mad? Don't answer; it's a rhetorical question. You could have splinched yourself Apparating here! Many better a wizard suffered amputation of some vital parts due to intoxication. You're so stupid there are no words to describe it!"

Now I'm really worried and I don't like this feeling at all. Malfoys don't do worry. We do contempt, sneering, evil laughing, things like that, you probably get the gist. Worry is reserved for family, for people we...

Potter's snoring wakes me from my little reverie. That twat has fallen asleep on my bed. On my covers. I sigh, and take off his shoes with resignation. After all, he may be an insufferable git but we still work together and it's only fair to help a colleague in need. Not to mention I'm in love with said colleague, and I finally got him in my bed, if only in literal sense.

When I'm putting him under the covers, he gently grasps my wrist. "Don't leave me," he slurs.

"I never would."

Only when the smile tugs upwards the corners of his lips, do I realize I've said it aloud. He tricked me, bloody bastard!

As I cuddle next to him, I really hope he wakes up with a nasty hangover.

~~*~*~*~~

My wish has been denied, if the way Potter hums merrily around a Transfigured toothbrush is any indication. Just his bloody luck. I watch him, standing in front of the washbasin in his white boxers only, his feet flat on the tiles, flexing his toes. My cock swells a bit, and the epiphany that I may have a bit of a foot fetish is really unexpected. Well, maybe it's just a Potter fetish. He catches me in the mirror and startles, the toothbrush poking his cheek. Serves him right.

"What did you Transfigure?"

He visibly cringes at my unpleasant tone. "A comb."

"Which one?"

"What, you own more than one?"

"Well, I should have expected this, your hair tells me all I want to know. And even a bit more. Now kindly get out of my bathroom so I can shower. And breakfast's on you, by the way."

He smiles, rinses the toothbrush before putting it into a cup next to mine and paddles past me into the bedroom, the swirl of air carrying his scent behind him. I hear the click of the door. Refusing to look at the two toothbrushes, I go under the shower. Better make it cold, I guess.

When I get out of the shower five minutes later (do I look like a polar bear to you?), the insolent hairy stick is still there. I imagine it would whistle innocently, if it were able to, at the same time making advances at my own toothbrush.

I'd better stick to the breath-freshening charm today.

~*~*~~*~*~~

The smell of bacon reaches my nostrils in the hall. I would expect Potter to Apparate to buy a croissant and espresso, like bachelors do, but it seems he has decided to make scrambled eggs.

"You think it's wise to eat such a greasy breakfast after the night of heavy drinking? I don't want you to puke all over my kitchen floor."

He smiles, buttering the toasts. "I never get any hangovers. It's hereditary."

He turns round to the oven and I know the accident is going to happen but I can't react quickly enough. He grasps the hot pan and hisses immediately because it scolds the skin of his palm. I'm by his side quicker than you can say "Dumbledore is gay", casting a Healing charm. My heart's drumming thudthudthud, and before I can fully acknowledge what is happening, I'm being pushed against the counter, with my mouth being invaded by Potter's tongue, wet, slick and hungry. Amazingly, he's passionate as in whatever he does, but at the same time extremely delicate, an attitude he only shows for the things he cares for. Desire slowly uncoils in my stomach, raising its head like a sleepy snake. And then Potter breaks the kiss.

But he never stops rutting his groin against mine, slowly, maddeningly. And when he speaks, his breath comes out in shallow gasps.

"I have to go to the Ministry shortly but I'll be back in the evening. Is that OK?" I nod my agreement, not trusting my voice enough not to say ridiculously silly things. He smiles again and I realize he's really happy. And surprisingly, I'm happy too.

Why bother worrying about things I have no control of, instead of enjoying everything I get for as long as I can get it? If tomorrow Potter decides to go back to Ned, at least I'll have one night to remember.

"The toothbrush stays, you do realize that?" he says, "And so may I."

Yes, it's better not to worry at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Merry Month of May fest at hd_falling.  
> Prompt: Photo of a modern bedroom.


End file.
